Blurted

Our tongues love the taste
of what we want to say.

Sweet as raw sugar,
more satisfying than sea salt,

private ideas rise in our mouths,
frantic for any way out:

a handshake moment,
a lull in the conversation.

On impulse, we blurt out
pent-up judgements,

divulge random secrets,
speak our piece.

Once started, a trickle
becomes a proverbial flood;

we babble without an ear
to the biting silence

of social dismay elicited
by our impropriety.

Later, called out for bad taste,
we plead innocence, explain how

sometimes it just feels so good
to spit out the truth,

to be ourselves and just say
what we really mean.

by Anne McCrady

News Links (find out more):  Reuters, CNN, Independent

Audio Link (hear Anne read the poem): SoundCloud